


don’t help them to bury the light

by silentsaebyeok



Series: Being Alive (is different than living) [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: (but written before Endgame's release), Angst, Awesome May Parker (Spider-Man), Depression, Dissociation, Don't copy to another site, Gen, Hurt Peter Parker, Hurt/Comfort, I drew on a lot of my own experiences for this, May Parker POV, Mental Health Issues, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Post-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective May Parker (Spider-Man), Worried May Parker (Spider-Man), post-Avengers: Endgame
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-09
Updated: 2019-02-09
Packaged: 2019-10-24 19:06:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17709857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silentsaebyeok/pseuds/silentsaebyeok
Summary: After a few minutes, voice small and shaking, Peter broke the silence. “May, I think I’m going crazy.”Looking over at her nephew sitting in the passenger’s seat of the car, May didn’t fail to notice his hands curled into fists in his lap, as if to halt their constant tremors. She knew Peter was hurting. She knew he was reaching for some sort of solid ground. Something stable. Something that wasn’t there. But until that very moment, until May heard Peter utter those words, those broken, hopeless words, she hadn’t fully realized the gravitas of the situation.--The Avengers bring those who were dusted back and May is trying her best to be an anchor for her boy.





	don’t help them to bury the light

**Author's Note:**

> Content Warning: this work contains depictions of PTSD, depression and dissociation. If you don't feel comfortable reading that kind of thing, consider yourself warned.  
> \--  
> The title of this work is taken from the lyrics of the song "Hey You" by Pink Floyd

_“Of all the ways to lose a person, death is the kindest.”_

_\--Ralph Waldo Emerson_

~~

At first there was joy. Tony and the rest of the surviving Avengers had brought back her wonderful, bright boy. But then there was pain. May began to notice how quiet and withdrawn Peter was. He wasn’t the same as before. While she didn’t know all the details of what happened on Titan, she knew enough to realize something like that would change a person. She hadn’t even been there, but it changed her. It changed her world.

She had long moved passed being angry with Tony for what Peter did. She knew there was no stopping him, even though she often wished she could. But seeing Peter like this hurt May in a way only a mother could be hurt; and she was Peter’s mother in every way that counted.

Some nights May couldn’t sleep. Sometimes she felt an uneasiness that only manifest itself in all those months she spent alone. All those months without Peter. All those years without Ben.

As time began to move forward and their two little lives began to take on some semblance of normalcy again, May began to notice other things that marked a difference in Peter.

One of May’s sleepless nights, one of the nights when she felt that overwhelming uneasiness, she found Peter pacing in the living room. It was around three a.m. and Peter was wide awake. He looked almost frantic in his pacing. His eyes were wide, but they seemed unseeing, as if they didn’t register the world around them. May wasn’t even sure Peter realized she was watching him.

Back and forth, back and forth. Eyes empty and hands limp. Somewhere in the back of her mind, May thought Peter would wear out the rug if he kept going on like that.

“Peter.” She said, wanting to bring him out of his stupor.

He abruptly halted his pacing. His head snapped to her face. Finding the source of the noise, Peter’s eyes dawned with recognition.

“May.” He answered simply. Voice ashamed and broken as if he had just realized what he’d been doing.

May moved to the couch. Patting the seat next to her and saying, “come sit with me, Peter.”

He did as he was told, snuggling up next to her. May put her arm around his shoulders and pulled her nephew in for a hug.

“You know I love you. I love you so much.” May whispered.

“I love you too, May.”

She didn’t know how long they sat there. In silence. Letting the sounds of a city that always moved—no matter the time—wash over them. May was worried about her nephew. Her baby. Her son. But she didn’t know how to help him. She didn’t know where to turn.

\--

Some days, May noticed, Peter didn’t say much of anything. As if forming words was too debilitating and overwhelming. Just one more thing he had to piece together in the fabric of his consciousness. To May, those were the worst days. The days when the thick haze of darkness and depression seemed to spread all the way from his fractured mind to his toes, like a blanket enveloping him. But instead of warmth and comfort, it was icy tendrils that had snatched the life out of her brave boy.

On those days, May would give anything to get him back. To see his smile. The way his eyes crinkled when he laughed. To just get the reassurance, the confirmation that Peter Parker was in there. That he was alive. Not just some sort of ghost occupying the empty spaces of her apartment.

“Peter, honey. Please come out of your room, you’ve been in there all day and it’s almost four o’clock. We can have a _Star Wars_ marathon. We can make popcorn. You don’t have to say anything, baby. I just want to see your face.”   

She didn’t know what she expected. Of course, only silence would meet her requests.

A few hours later, after trying to distract herself from the things weighing on her mind by binge watching _Friends_ , May felt a dip in the seat next to her on the couch and Peter’s warm shoulder brush up against her side.

Peter took her hand in his, squeezing it lightly three times. May smiled at that. Remembering a time that was much simpler. When Peter was a child. When Ben was still alive.

_“Guess what, Aunt May?”_

_“What, Petey?”_

_“I have a secret code! But only you and Uncle Ben can know it.” Peter whispered frantically as if this was top-secret intelligence._

_Lowering her voice and bending down to Peter’s level May decided to play along with her child’s active imagination. “Quick! Tell me what it is before anyone else finds out!”_

_“It’s not a telling thing.” Peter informed her. “It’s a showing thing.”_

_“A showing thing, huh?”_

_“Yeah. It goes like this.” Peter then reached up a tiny hand and grasped onto her much larger one. After a moment of stillness, May felt three small squeezes in quick succession._

_A beat of surprise crossed her features. Then, schooling her expression May whispered, “What does it mean, Petey?”_

_“I. Love. You.” Peter said simply, squeezing her hand again in time with those three little words._

_To Peter, May mused, it must have been so obvious, so simple. But to May, it was beautiful and innocent and it filled her heart with a kind of joy only a mother knows._

As the years faded away and that wonderful little moment made its home in the recesses of her mind, May began to think it would just become a memory, a relic of the past. She never imagined this kind of affection—affection that was quintessentially Peter Parker—would emerge again. But it did. Even thinking about it now, almost four years on, she tried not to let tears sting her eyes. She tried not to think about how the only other time Peter said those three little words in that particular way was the week after Ben’s funeral. He was drowning in a pool of grief and guilt and shock, clawing at anything he could to keep him afloat. Much like he was now.

As the two of them sat in the little living room of the apartment, wanting to say everything and nothing all at once, May realized what started as something out of a child’s imagination became a call for help. A plea for a savior. Someone who could make the pain go away. And May Parker realized, for the first time, that Peter wanted her to be that person.

\--

It was the first time May was abruptly pulled from her sleep by the sound of screaming coming from Peter’s bedroom, but it wouldn’t be the last. Shooting up in bed and quickly pulling her robe over her small frame, she shuffled out of her room and over to Peter’s in an instant. Ripping open the door and turning on the light, she found him tangled in his sheets, faced scrunched up and moaning for help.

“Peter. Oh, honey.” She said as she rushed over to his side. Her hand hovered above his curls, unsure if smoothing them back would be helpful or startle him enough to lash out. Instead she opted to grab his hand, brushing her thumb along his calloused knuckles. “It’s okay, baby. It’s okay. You can wake up now. I’m here.”

Peter’s eyes snapped open, looking frantically around the room until he gathered himself, until he realized May was holding his hand, until he realized he was safe.

May could see the dawn of realization begin to take shape in Peter’s eyes. And once the moment of realization came, Peter broke, tears beginning to stream from his kind eyes. Eyes that had seen too much. Too much heartache, pain and hardship for a sixteen-year-old kid.

“Shhhhh. You’re safe, Peter. Everything is gonna be okay.” May said, enveloping Peter in a tight hug. The physical protection, the grounding sensation of the hug was as much for May as it was for Peter. If only for a moment, May could pretend that this hug would shield her child from all the hurt in the world, if only for a moment she could pretend this was a normal hug and forget she had woken to the cries of her nephew. The nephew she was unable to protect from witnessing the death of her husband, a collapsed building, a plane crash on Coney Island and the disappearance of half the universe.

Peter clutched May as if she was his only lifeline, burying his head in her shoulder and gripping the back of her robe with such force she thought it might tear. She didn’t ask him what his nightmare was about, she didn’t demand he explain himself, she just let him hold onto her, wetting the front of her robe with his tears.

\--

_“Mrs. Parker? This is Anita Menas from Midtown’s front office. I’m sorry to interrupt you. Peter has informed us you are at work. However, it is important that you call the school back as soon as possible. Peter has had some sort of anxiety attack and needs to be sent home for the day. Again, please call the school at 718-268-3137 as soon as possible. Thank you.”_

After listening to the click of the receiver, May put her phone in her pocket and her face in her hands. This was the fourth time an anxiety attack like this happened to Peter while at school. The fourth time in only three weeks. How much longer could this go on for? She just wanted to cry, to break down right there, right in the middle of the break room. She was at the end of her rope. She didn’t know what to do for Peter.

Of course, she had looked into the city’s best therapists, but they were all too expensive—and booked out. Peter wasn’t the only kid traumatized from turning to dust. But he _was_ the only kid traumatized by fighting the very being that made it happen. If only May had a million dollars, then she could get Peter into the best therapist on the— _a million dollars!_ _A billion dollars! Tony!_ The idea forming in her brain seemed to awaken her to what immediately needed to be done. Hastily grabbing her things from her locker in the break room, May prepared to go speak with her boss about why—yet again—she had to leave work to pick up her nephew.  

\--

The car ride home from the school was quiet and tense. This being the fourth time May had to pick Peter up from school under these circumstances, all the words—all the things to say—had run dry. From the way Peter was acting, May assumed some of the kids had begun to notice how frequently this was happening. May Parker was no idiot. She knew some of the kids at Peter’s school teased him, but she also knew Peter would come to her if it got to be too much. So she left it alone, not wanting to further hurt her nephew’s pride.

After a few minutes, voice small and shaking, Peter broke the silence. “May, I think I’m going crazy.”

Looking over at her nephew sitting in the passenger’s seat of the car, May didn’t fail to notice his hands curled into fists in his lap, as if to halt their constant tremors. She knew Peter was hurting. She knew he was reaching for some sort of solid ground. Something stable. Something that wasn’t there. But until that very moment, until May heard Peter utter those words, those broken, hopeless words, she hadn’t fully realized the gravitas of the situation.

“I want—I need help. I want to see a therapist.”

Realizing the importance of the conversation they were about to have, May pulled to the side of the road and looked into her nephew’s eyes. Peter had the kind of eyes that were full of compassion, full of love, full of kindness. But today they were filled with unshed tears. Lifeless. Dull and far away. It hurt May’s heart to see the boy she thought of as a son with that look on his face. A look so broken and hopeless. A look that signified how utterly finished he was with playing this kind of game with his mind.

“Peter.” She started, putting a hand over one of his clenched ones and looking him straight in the eye. “First of all, you are _not_ going crazy. Do you understand?” Peter nodded, but the vacant look in his eyes betrayed him. May felt a sense of loss. Her boy must have been feeling his grip on sanity slipping for a while now, even though today was the first time he voiced such feelings.

Trying to get him to understand, trying to make that vacant look disappear from his eyes, May continued. “You have been through a very traumatic experience, and it is understandable that you are not feeling like your normal self. But I want you to know I am very proud of you for being willing to talk to me about this. I’m glad you feel comfortable sharing it. I love you so much, Peter.”

“I love you too, May.” Peter whispered, blinking rapidly as if to hold off the emotion welling in his eyes.

“Now for the therapist, I will look into some options and we can make a decision together. How does that sound?”

“Great.” Peter nodded, eyes brimming with unshed tears. “Thank you.”

\--

May Parker hated having to ask anyone for anything. She was a fiercely independent person, and ever since Ben’s death, she had no one else to rely on, at least not in the adult sense. Her pride let her scrape by, let her save every penny just to make her bills, but when it came to her kid, she wanted to give him the world. It didn’t matter if she wasn’t able to eat dinner every night; as long as there was enough food on the table for Peter, it was enough.

That desire to make sure Peter knew how much she cared about him, how much she wanted him to succeed in life, was the reason she arranged a meeting with Tony at the Avengers Compound. May certainly didn’t want to ask _the_ Tony Stark— _billionaire_ Tony Stark for any help, despite the friendship that had grown between them. But when it came to her kid, she was willing to wound her pride.  

May wouldn’t say she was desperate by any sense, but she couldn’t stand to see Peter live his life in such a painful way any longer. The distant look that had taken up permanent residence on his face, the way he would wake up screaming, or not be able to sleep at all. Days of his education lost to episodes of panic or depression. She knew _she_ couldn’t go on living like this, so she couldn’t imagine how much of a hell it was for Peter.

Tony had agreed to meet with May when she called him the night before. He sounded concerned, but also somewhat distant. May wasn’t naïve. She knew Tony was still blaming himself for what happened on Titan. She knew he must have been working through his own trauma of those events. May still certainly was, and she had been fortunate enough to be spared witnessing the person she cared the most about turn to dust.

She knew she would never be able to forget the look on Tony’s face when he showed up at her apartment door. A look that only a parent who lost a child could possess. A look so distant, so broken, that there would be no way to fix it; not completely at least. By that point, she knew Peter was gone, but she had no idea he’d died on an alien planet, millions of miles away from home. She had no idea that he died in Tony’s arms, begging, pleading, for Tony to save him.

But when Tony told her what happened, told her the grim details, the things she never wanted to know, she had to force herself not to beg him to stop talking. She had to force herself to wait and break down after Tony had left. To cry alone, in an apartment she never wanted all to herself. She couldn’t lose it, not in front of him, not when he looked so broken. At that moment, it seemed, the universe had it out for May Parker. And at that moment she realized there would be no body, no reason to find a casket that would be the perfect size for a teenage boy. And somehow, that made her angry, angrier than she had ever been in her life.

With those thoughts weighing heavily on her mind, May made her way to the Compound for their meeting. Yet, upon her arrival, she encountered a much more emotionally stinted Tony Stark than she had ever encountered before. He didn’t even ask what she had come to discuss. Instead, May found a check for far too much money being placed in her hands.

“Get Peter the help he needs. The best help.” Tony said, voice slow, stunted and broken.

May suddenly realized he already knew what this was all about. Yet, a sharp sense of anger boiled up inside her, pulsing a fire through her veins. A fire that congregated on the check in her hands. “Tony,” May chastised, trying to control her anger. “You can’t do this! You can’t just throw money at this problem!”

“It’s my fault, May. He died because of me.” He said with far too little emotion, far too little conviction.

“We’ve been over this!” May said, voice rising to levels where others in the vicinity were bound to hear her. “I can’t keep trying to convince you it isn’t your fault! I need you to back me up on this, to help me with Peter! God knows he sees you as more than just a part-time mentor to his vigilantism! Cut the bullshit Tony! I can’t be the only one to hold him up when he can’t do that for himself!”

Tony hesitated, looking torn for a moment before he told her he was sorry, before he turned on his heel and walked deeper into the building. His voice had sounded so sad, so filled with regret and anguish. Never turning his head, even when May screamed at him to come back, to discuss this like the adults they were.

It took every ounce of May’s composure not to rip the check up in her hands. Oh, how she wanted to, how she wanted to do it, just to get back at Tony, just to be vindictive for one moment. But she couldn’t. Not for Peter. God knows he needed at least one adult in his corner. One adult to get him the help he so desperately asked for.

Turning on her heel and walking out the front doors of the gleaming Avengers Compound, May knew she wasn’t done with Tony, not by a long shot. She would force him, in one way or another, to see that he was desperately needed in Peter’s life.

\--

A few days after May’s encounter with Tony at the Compound, she received an encrypted e-mail with the name and address of a high-end behavioral health clinic in Manhattan and a three sentence explanation.

_This is the clinic that works with the Avengers. Peter’s identity will be safe with them. I told them you would be coming but remind them I sent you._

_\--Tony_

A surge of anger and a wave of thankfulness warred with May the moment she read the e-mail. On one hand, she was extremely angry with Tony for not being directly involved in such a critical time in Peter’s life, but on the other, she couldn’t help but be thankful that a least he was doing something to protect her boy.

A week later, Peter had his first appointment with a soft-spoken caramel-haired therapist named Mira Powell. She had experience both with the Avengers themselves, and other mutant teens who desired to hide their abilities from the public. After spending the majority of their appointment time alone, May was called back for a discussion amongst the three of them.

She soon found the reason she was called into Mira’s office was to be given an ultimatum, an answer. Peter’s diagnosis was PTSD. May had never felt so many emotions vying for her attention at once. There was a sharp sadness, but a blessed and beautiful release. The cascading pools of relief and regret washed over her. Relief that there was a name to all the pain and sorrow Peter had been experiencing. But regret that she couldn’t have caught it sooner, that she couldn’t have prevented it in the first place. But for the first time, May realized, she had the power to begin helping Peter heal.    

\--

_“The goal of therapy is for Peter to learn how to manage and cope with his mental illness. There is no cure for PTSD, but I’m confident if Peter works hard the good days will begin to outweigh the bad.”_

_“Will the bad days ever completely go away?” May asked Mira. She had called May in to discuss the details of Peter’s diagnosis and ways she could help support him during treatment._

_“It is highly unlikely. With the amount of trauma Peter has sustained, the outcome we will be looking to reach is more along the lines of sustainability rather than complete recovery. I cannot say that I’ve had many patients in the past who died and remember it as vividly as Peter does.”_

May was continuously looping the conversation with Peter’s therapist through her mind on her way home from work one sunny afternoon. Hadn’t her boy been through enough? Why did the universe feel the need to put this burden on him too? He had already gone through so much counseling after the death of his parents, and then again when Ben died. Yet, May supposed that seeing someone else die and dying yourself were two completely different things. Two different boats with different cargo weighing them down but following the same route. A route that would give them the ability to crash into each other and sink to the bottom of the ocean.

_“Peter’s trauma has been building for many years, as you know. I asked him in our first session what types of things cause him symptoms, and he gave me a whole list of past traumas. Some of which he has sought out therapy for in the past.”_

_“My husband’s death?” It wasn’t a question. Not really._

_“Yes.”_

May continued to think. The situation weighing heavily on her mind as she parked her car and went up to the apartment. There was so much work to do. So much healing that still needed to happen, even from things long buried in the past.

_“Peter’s a remarkably bright boy. I’ve been impressed with how hard he’s been working over the past few weeks. He needs as much support as possible to continue working as fervently as he has been, and I know giving you the proper tools to help him will be essential.”_

_“I can’t be the only one to support him. What about Tony? Peter looks up to him and I know how Tony’s acting is hurting him. He tries not to show it, but—”_

_A knowing look of disappointment crossed Mira’s face, “Tony knows what he should be doing in this situation, but I can’t force him to do what’s best, no matter how much I would like to.”_

“Peter, I’m home!” May called after opening the door and stepping into the living room of their small apartment.

When she didn’t get an answer, May checked her watch. Four-thirty-seven. Peter should be home by now. He hadn’t gone on patrol since before _that day_ , and May knew that although he was improving, he wasn’t ready to go back to that yet.

Walking to his bedroom door, she found it closed. _That’s odd. Peter never closes his door when he’s home alone._

Pulling at the handle, May found it locked as well. “Baby, open up!” She called, knocking on his door as her heart-rate began to increase. What would cause Peter to do something like this?

_“Sometimes you might find Peter engaging in unexplainable or unusual behavior. His specific form of PTSD causes him to dissociate or have severe panic attacks when things get to be too much. If this happens, make sure you stay calm. He will have a better chance at calming down if you can keep a level head. Make sure he is fully present before questioning him about what happened. He may become more agitated if you question him in the middle of dissociation or various other symptoms.”_

_“How do I do that? Bring him back to the present, I mean.”_

Taking a deep breath, May grabbed the spare key from her jewelry box to unlock Peter’s door. She was terrified of what she would find on the other side. A pit of dread settled within her, as if she had swallowed an ice cube whole and could still feel its friged temperature, even in the pit of her stomach.

_“Try the countdown technique.”_

_“The countdown technique?”_

_“Yes. It has been proven to be very helpful for patients in the midst of a severe panic attack or dissociation. I will get into the details of how to guide him through the technique in a moment, but the purpose is for patients to focus on things around them—things of the physical world—so they are able to pull themselves out of their heads.”_

Once the door—the barrier—to protecting her child was opened, May found Peter curled into a tight ball on the bottom bunk of his bed, facing the now open door she was standing in. His eyes were open, but they looked blank and glassy, staring intently at a blank point on the wall. He was still fully clothed, including his shoes and backpack, arms tucked around him as if to shield himself. May noticed a slight trembling in his shoulders.

“Oh, baby. Oh, Peter.” She said as she rushed toward his side, pulling out his desk chair and adjusting herself on it in front of his bed.

Her movement seemed to catch his attention. His eyes drifting listlessly toward her figure. They didn’t seem to be seeing her though, a thousand-yard stare occupying them. One that went straight through her soul.

“Oh, honey. How long have you been laying here like this?” May didn’t expect an answer, so she was surprised when he shook his head in response.

“Okay Peter, I need you to stay calm.” May said, the words more for herself than for him. “Do you think you can sit up for me?”

It took him a minute, but Peter eventually complied, coming to a sitting position and backing up until he was against the wall and curled into a tight ball, backpack and shoes still a part of his attire. To May, he didn’t look any less vulnerable in his new position.

She grabbed his hand, and he jumped, seeming to be slightly more aware. “Where’s your head at, honey?” She asked, words slow and voice much calmer than she expected it to be.

“My…head?” Peter said, clearly confused.

“Uh-huh.”

“It’s… it’s…” Peter mumbled, clearly still not entirely sure what May was asking.

“Okay, Peter. I need you to look at me? Can you do that?”

His gaze moved lethargically toward her face, deep, brown eyes coming to rest on her own, hidden behind her glasses.

“Great job, baby.” May encouraged. “Now, name five things, only five, that you can see.”

“Five… things?” He said, looking confused and lost.

“Yup. Just five. You can do that, can’t you?”

“Um… uh… you.”

“Good. That’s one. Name another.”

 Peter’s eyes moved around the room frantically. “I… I… I can’t.” He finally said.

“Yes, you can, Peter. I know you can.” May said, gripping his hand tighter with both of her own.

May watched as Peter’s eyes flitted around the room, almost as if they were bouncing in their sockets; and after what felt like at least ten minutes, he finally said, “your glasses.”

“You’re doing so good, baby. Only three more.”

\--

Ned and Peter were in the living room together, watching a movie. After talking Peter out of his head, May suggested he find something to do that would keep him present. It was Peter’s idea to invite Ned over, and she gladly gave him permission despite it being a school night. Watching someone dissociate had not been something she ever wanted to witness, so she imagined it was just as draining and uncomfortable for Peter, probably even more so.

It took far too long to talk him out of his head, and once she had, their subsequent conversation had not been pleasant. Finding out Peter had no idea how he got home from school was unnerving to say the least. But finding out he didn’t remember much of the day at all was so much worse. She knew it was alarmingly unhealthy for Peter to go throughout the day like that. She couldn’t stop worrying about it, churning Peter’s words in her mind.  

Suddenly, from her position in her bedroom, May heard the sound of laughter. Peter’s laughter. She hadn’t heard that sound in so, so long. A sound she longed for since _that day_ , a sound that she thought she would never hear again. The emotions hit May all at once. She had her child back. She had him back and they were alive. They were going to be okay. They were making it through, despite how hard it had been, despite how hard it still was. And maybe, May thought, maybe healing begins like this.

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first work in a short series. Stay tuned for pt. 2 from Peter's point of view! Also, I know Tony is kind of being a jerk here, but I think he would definitely blame himself for what happened to Peter. Don't worry though, because all will be resolved in time!  
> \--  
> I also want to acknowledge that everyone's experiences with mental illness are different. This work is solely based off mine. I developed PTSD as a teenager from a very traumatic (and drawn out) near-death experience. I accepted that I was going to die, and that ended up coloring my life experiences then, and now. Since Peter really did die in IW, I decided that I would write this in a way that mirrors my experiences with mental illness. Although I did not actually die like Peter, I feel like my experiences are similar enough to write about this heavy topic.  
> \--  
> Finally, if you liked this fic, please leave a comment and tell me what you thought! You can also find me on Tumblr @silentsaebyeok if you want to talk with me, listen to me talk about my writing and fill your feed with Marvel and Star Wars content. Thanks for reading! :)


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